Burning Sands
Rocky Overlook -- Tatooine This rocky promontory looks over the city of Mos Eisley to the south giving one a birds eye view of the famous 'wretched hive of scum and villainy'. From here you can head north into the dune sea or south into the infamous spaceport. Both are dangerous in their own distinct way. As a wise Jedi once said as he stood in this very spot: We must be cautious. The light freighter was parked atop a distant overlook, the nature of the terrain was actually in the hunters favor, even speeders needed level clear roads. The Trandoshan stood atop his ship long range scopes watching the pass the convoy would travel through. It wasnt that he had anything against the Republic, its just so happens the Empire was more inclined to pay good credits for their enemies. A small factor that the Republic in its efforts to be the good guy often overlooks. This was going to be interesting, the idea of using his transport as a weapon. It struck him when he was trying to figure out how to get the edge on the numbers. He had been on the smugglers moons when a barmaid swatted at a bunch of carrion flyers, the little bugs bounced all over the place in the backwash of the broom. Ambrosia hehes, cues some weird not really theme theme music for the situation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfTFiuJO0sM Bounces around, humming jaunty tune into the line of fire The little caravan struck out hours ago, speeding along the stretch of sand from Beggar's Canyon towards the rocky outcropping - the last barrier between them and port. Or at least it felt like hours. Lifting her head off the tinted window, Ambrosia angles a look down to her wrist. The chronometer says otherwise - forty-seven minutes. Sigh. Closing her eyes, she thumps her head back against its uncomfortable resting place. "Please, pardon my inability to not make you more comfortable at this time," the metallic note of concern from TC-81, human cyborg assistant/nanny/translator/protocol droid, cuts the silence of the passenger cab. "By my calculations, we should be arriving in Mos Eisley within the next hour." Merk sits soundlessly beside her, half-lowered lids staring through the droid across from him and into the driver's cab in front. He's listening to something coming over the com in his ear. His left cheek twitches and one hairy brow dips with concern to pass a fleeting glance over his charge. The caravan came into view and the small transport lifted off, skimming the desert floor and using the hills for cover. The Hunter had laid out an approach course that would conceal the transport almost till the last seconds. If he bumped a few during the initial pass, well that would be a few less later on. Soldiers were well trained and thus very helpful. They would be fore and aft of the convoy. their charge safely in the center. Circle of fire would clear the ground and the backwash would certainly sweep the remainder as well as toast a few. "Be quiet...what?" Ambrosia both implores and complains sleepily to the droid and man watching her. She thumps Merk's knee lightly with her knuckles. "What?!" There's a low word of warning - something abuzz in Merk's ear. "Low flying craft up ahead, advan--HELL!" the head vehicle's relay cuts out abruptly to the tune of chaos. Turret fire rains down from above, drumming up a blinding cloud of dust as it pelts the sands across the convoy's path, rakes down the flanks, and rattles the rear vehicle with a thunderous blast of thrusters. The first pass is upon them and then gone as quickly as it'd erupted. In short, the little diplomatic convoy doesn't have time to ponder the culprit or motive behind this sudden attack. The lead vehicle is down, disabled and askew with failing shields. In attempts to fortify their position, the middle and rear vehicles close the distance between, forming a little defensive sandwich while the armed escorts inside scramble to "battle ready" positions. The transport pulls up tight over a ridge, falling from sight briefly but that’s only for the turn. The crafts engines echo all around making it sound as if it’s coming from all directions. Clearly part of the assault plan. One of the ridges explode in dust and debris creating a screen of dust to obscure the transports line of approach. The turrets open up again. Hammer the ground and those targets that were painted during the first past. another low pass, the ground weapons nowhere near effective against the ships forward shields. Clipping the remaining armed escort with a shielded side in passing. Time slows. Immensely. Even still, The wide, green eyes of the Ambassador can barely register what's happening. The rear speeder - suddenly airborne, tossed nose-over-ass by a 'nudge' from the aggressive transport - rolls perilously close to the couple marines lucky enough to leap out ahead of time. It catches and slides in the sand before grinding to a halt with a brutalized, mechanical groan. While that's happening, the fore vehicle is left in tatters. The few to survive that second round move away from their battered vehicle to gather 'round the middle one. Someone's yelling over the com, trying to make contact with port. The noise of com lines gone awry fizzles together with those still active and chatting away, desperately attempting to relay their position and circumstance. They take their stance, firing back on the vessel with a small turret mounted on the center speeder. It is an act that can have only one outcome - death. But that is in their job description. Defend their diplomatic charge, at all costs. This time there is no over the ridge course, the transport pulls up and seems to just float sideways towards the remaining troops, the roar of the suspensors and control jets fill the air. The turrets turn and pelt a circle around the grounded speeder. Weapons designed to punch holes in shields and starships leaving foxhole sized craters in the ground around the bent and grounded speeder. The pilot and crew use the crafts weapons with merciless abandon. But mindful not to hit the remaining grounded speeder. The hunter had been on the money as the marines clarify the location of his target by taking up a protective formation. One that simply defines his zones of fire. "This is Private Nula, reporting from dipl--" The speeder-mounted weapons system and its coms-chatty gunsman are suddenly blown clear off the hood of the Ambassador's vehicle by a blast, which rocks the speeder so violently that it kicks back a couple meters, dangerously near to the formerly lead vehicle -- which then explodes with the power of a thousand death stars... Or so it seems to the occupants of the target vehicle, as the sky suddenly becomes under their feet and sandy dune over heads. Ambrosia panics. She tries to disentangle herself from the wreckage - from the limp form of her bodyguard. And TC? The droid seems just as confused. Pausing in her struggles to feel about over her head - or under, as this slight inversion would have it - Ambrosia identifies part of her problem. Her scalp remains tethered to a piece of the safety harness by way of some hair. Pulling hard, she splits the strands apart and regains full mobility of her head. Just in enough time to almost lose it entirely as a round from the ship's turret skims past the speeder's tipped hull. The shield is gone. So is she! Against the advisement of the thus-survived Sgt who screams at her between ducks and return fire, the Ambassador bolts. Sort of. Coughing out the invading sand, Ambrosia scrambles free of her cage, only to scurry hand-over-knee towards the rear vehicle's smoldering remains. There's a blaster there. She saw it. She wants it. "No!" Merk's suddenly on her, grabbing at her legs and trying to pull her back into their speeder. Panicking, Ambrosia kicks at him, to no avail. She claws at the sand, to no avail. Maybe if she'd stopped fighting him for a moment, she'd see what he had - her perceived salvation is about to become a fireball of molten bits as its still-running energy core gets pelted with round after round after... BOOOOOOM And then it happens. A quick sweep of the transports scanners indicate less than a handful of living organics, landing struts extended as it begins to settle. The turrets still pelting out fire at any remaining resistance. The pilot gives a nod of thanks and appreciation to the quick thinking marine who pulled his quarry to safety. Even a hunter can appreciate a soldier doing his duty. But it is the lot of a soldier to live or die by the blade. They gave a true and honorable showing of their valor, not one broke and ran. This was to be respected. There's a great deal of kick to this exploding vehicle, as well. A lot of kick and a lot of debris. In an instant, Ambrosia's world is transformed from a deafening roar of terror to a dull, muted buzz of horror. She's landed more or less with a skid back beneath the shadow of her original transportation, where TC-81 is still hung up by a leg. But Merk? Merk's gone. Most of him, anyway. Some over here...some over there...blown apart by molten debris. He must have taken the brunt of it. To make this instantaneously hideous situation worse, the 'some' that's 'over here' is actually /on her/. A scalding meld of flesh and fabric, bone and alloy, splattered across her back, shoulder, one hand... Somebody screams. Maybe her. The Sgt's face pops into view, but it's not to tell her to stay put. It's not to say anything. The Sgt lays on her side, a smoking crater where her throat had been, her brown eyes no longer seeing but staring all the same at the woman she died trying to protect. In the name of freedom, carrion mongrels of the desert shall squabble over her bones. Delgard's hand flies to face, pressing over her mouth and silencing her own cry before it can be betray her. She curls as small as she can make herself, hidden for now, breaths coming in frantic little puffs. It's huddled here, blissfully numbed by shock, slowly 'bonding' to her old frenemy Merk's remains, that Ambrosia sees it. The blaster. Very delicately, she creeps one hand forward until her arm is almost at full reach. Snatches it. Retracts back into her huddle. Knees tucked to chin, trembling hands fiercely gripping her last life line. The transport sits at a distance, its turrets scanning, sensors reaching out and detecting a single life sign and one droid. Silence for a short time and then the armored form descends the landing ramp. Armored boots crunching across the sand. Coming closer to the overturned speeder. The cloak flutters in the desert breeze. The Hunter unslings the blaster rifle and calls out to the survivor, his voice altered to an electronic tone one. "Come out, I have no desire to kill you." he pauses for a moment. "But if I have to I will use a flash bang to stun you and in a confined space, I can’t promise no damage." he advises. "The brave soldiers gave their lives to keep you alive, don’t make their effort vain." he remains at a stable range for his rifle but no doubt a shaky one for a pistol. "I will give you a moment to consider it, then we do this the hard way." Ambrosia's heart threatens to give her away, as hard and fast as it's pounding between ribs. Surely they could hear it light years away. Her rampant pulse demands more O2. More O2 demands that she stop holding her breath and hazard a few tiny pants while the one she presumes is responsible for all this tries to negotiate surrender. Frightened eyes take stock of what, if anything, remains to her advantage. Well? She's holding it. And that's not even advantageous so much as last resort. Both hands clasp the weapon shakily, as shock progresses slowly through her system. Adrenaline's pumping at full blast. She can't even cry, if she wanted to - the desiccated air evaporates the tears right off her cheeks! But her knives!? They were somewhere. Her back. Tucked into her brazier. Her com? On her belt. And then there's TC, who 'cries' out a very unemotional "Ah! Mistress Delgard, I fear that my orientation sensors have been damaged! I can't seem to find my way out! I do believe you'll have to escape without me..." There IS no escape. Squeezing her eyes tightly closed, she feels the blaster quiver out of her grip and plop soundlessly into the sand between her feet. Grotesquely blistered feet, now. Sandals were a bad choice... Moments later, a sorry sight comes crawling on her belly out from under the disabled speeder. Her hair hangs in disarray, covering much of her face, save for the pair of hateful eyes, glittering with malice most colorful towards the armored figure so very far away. Head to toe the figure is armored, tall and the impossibly huge blaster rifle or so it appears. Is held very casually. "Dear woman, if you might move it a bit more quickly, that speeder could blow to bits any moment and you have been through enough hell already, yes?" an arm pulls free and a clawed hand indicates the transport behind him. "Medical supplies and a refresher await you." the armored helmet gives the figure a demonic appearance and the black and grey splotch cloak lends an illuion of shifting darkness in the smoke and hazy heat driven air. Yes. Let's hasten it, shall we? What a joke. Ambrosia sneers, brain working hard to think up some venomous retort. It doesn't come. What does surface though is a little bit of nerve. Rather, peripheral nervous system awareness. Her skin is on fire. Or so it feels. Third and Fourth degree burns have melted and bubbled patches of flesh - between her shoulder blades, much of the lumbar, her right shoulder, back of her left hand, top of a foot Maybe some scalp. Patch of her ass, for sure. Suddenly, the creeping crawl is not only NOT progressing into an upright shuffle like the hunter might prefer...it's slowing all together. Anger and fear rapidly disintegrate from her expression, replaced by a silent scream, breath too frozen with the sudden smack of sensation to be of much use even in that department. The armored figures head tilts to the side as the woman seems to freeze for a moment, a few beats and then he speaks. "Is there something wrong, well, beyond the obvious." he amends his remark as the woman takes on a very eclectic posture and facial expression. The blaster rifle remains casually point in her direction. The electronic voice is devoid of anything but the most casual of curiosity. Ewan Dain hops out of the turret seat and out of the ship, arriving at the nightmarish sight of carnage and the charred visage of a new best friend. Dain didn't have many of those! The Corellian rushes over and removes his mechanic's gloves and kneels by Ambrosia. "Ambassador. It's me. Ewan Dain. Are you alright?" Dain looks to Nachkt and smiles. "Damn good shooting." Dain turns his gaze back on Ambrosia and looks her over and is aghast at the damage she's endured. The once holo-producer knows very little about medicine but from the burns he can tell it's serious. While waiting for Ambrosia's response Dain activates the comlink at his ear. "JEEVE5, we need you here, sending our location." A strangely accented voice responds. "On my way sir. Is everything all right?" Dain rolls his eyes. "No. Hurry up." "Hurrying." Dain somehow produces a small flask of water and hands it to Ambrosia. "Friends are on their way." Someone's speaking again. It. That thing. Behind the mask. Face contorting with a look of undeniable agony, she blinks her blurring stare in Nachkt's direction. "Fff..." One heaving breath must be quickly followed by another. No time to talk, but the glare says it all. Her fingers stiffly uncurl, releasing the desert sand from their clutches. Shakily, she lifts her left hand, splayed for visual confirmation of what she feels. Yes. Yes, this is real. And yes, that is a matted, melted, wad of hair - too dark to be her own - fused to her knuckle. Scalp, maybe? Merk? Oh god, Merk. Oh god, Dain? Squinting with increasingly weary confusion and horror at the man she flinches back, rearing to her knees only to flop back onto her backside in paltry effort to get away. OW. What is /happening/ here!? Her same hand remains uplifted, a fine imitation of her droid's best wave, to ward off whatever he's thinking to do with that canteen. As big as her eyes are, there's no question she's on the verge of a total freak out. It's just a matter of time. Meanwhile, TC-81 has done precisely as her mistress instructed her to do and waited three minutes. It takes a bit of effort, but the droid does climb to its feet on the other side of that tipped speeder and starts walking... Nachkt tilts his head and but doesn’t shoulder the rifle. "Help her aboard the Prayer...your friends will have to catch up.." he nods to the woman. "As I was telling you at the cantina, sometimes being in the path of travel is better than trailing after or stalking your prey." He walks over to the droid and shakes his head, hand produces a restraining bolt and plants it on its chest. The remote comes up and he shuts it down. "I am assuming there’s a tracking beacon, so let’s get moving." he nods to the woman. "Pick her up." Dain does his best to the calm the wounded ambassador. "Don't worry, we're getting you out of here. I have a medical bay on the ship." Dain stands and places his mechanic's gloves back on. He kneels once more. "I'll carry her." Dain in a blizzard of whirrs and beeps wraps his armor plated arms under the ambassador and stands straight up with her cradled like a baby. "Quick, someone get a holo-cam!" Dain chuckles and the enhanced armor does its job. He has little issue smoothly carrying the woman towards Nachkt's ship. "I'll have the medical droid ready. I'll let JEEVE5 know were on our way." Dain's comlink light up as he begins talking in it. "Scratch the last order JEEVE5, we're bringing wounded. Have the medical droid ready, and find that bottle of Rodian whiskey in the storage compartment. We're going to need it." Ambrosia's trying to keep a grip on reality. It's just so very hard. Fourteen years ago she lay bleeding in the snow, knees a smoldering ruin, watching her embassy burn. Until a pair of blue eyes came peering into her fading line of sight and spirited her away to the sound of sirens and smell of bacta. Is she back in that place now? No, because this snow is rough and gritty and hot. "Tiv..." she whispers plaintively, knowing it can't be real. Unless she'd died again. That's a possibilit-NOPE. Nope, not dead. A sharp, piercing wail cuts the air like a rifle rapport, echoing over the dunes. Being touched, let along picked up, weight born upon the rawest of the raw back there, is just too much, and she squirms, which of course makes it worse. A full body shiver takes hold, hiccupping her pathetic attempts at speech. At bargaining. "Let, just...let away. I, no..." Nachkt calls out a set of loading droids to move the inert protocol droid and slings his rifle over his shoulder, opting to keep the nature of the exchange here. To himself until the Prayer was airborne. "Be quick, I am not sure if company will be coming and I don’t want to be here to find out." Dain practically rolls along the sand as the servo motors in his armor create the smoothest travel Ambrosia could hope for. "Nechkt's right. Sorry, Ambassador. We have to get you out of here right now." Dain takes little notice of any other carnage as he hurries towards the Prayer. It was a fortuitous name for a ship right now and Dain takes note. "Almost there." Within moments Dain and his ragged and bloody cargo arrive at the ships ramp. "Just a little bit farther." The trio and droid board the vessel and the pilit lifts off, using the ships thrusters to obliterate any tracks in the area. Thus wiping all evidence of anyone being here save the carnage. With that the small armed freight keeps a nap of the earth flight course and clears the area. Keeping to the ground clutter as much as possible, until well out of the area. On aboard the ships scanners are key to detect additional tracking device and other transmitters. Lower Deck - Maiden's Prayer The SoroSuub Nestt consists of a wide rectangular forward module and a wider octagonal aft module. The forward boarding ramp is located in the forward module and is triple sealed which means it can be used as an airlock for space walks or exiting the ship into type III or type IV atmospheres. The ships two docking rings extend down to the underside of the ship and allow docking with other ships. The docking rings are also triple sealed and can be used as airlocks for space walks or deploying astromech droids for external ship repairs. The cargo lift lowers to the ground and can lift up to eight metric tons of cargo to the lower deck. The lift is large enough to fit most speeders and was designed for vehicle loading. The lift room is also triple sealed and can be used as an airlock for space walks or droid deployment for repairs. The ships secondary repulsor lifts and artificial gravity equipment are located under the grated flooring on the lower deck. Behind the lift is the entrance to the AFT MODULE. Ambrosia's protestations only get louder the further up the ramp they go. That's all they can be though - protestations. She's in no shape to claw out eyeballs or wrestle for a blaster. Eventually, her vocal chords tucker out. Probably is /was/ her own self she heard screaming the whole while during the convoy attack. By the time they're on board and gliding beneath the harsh glare of overhead lights, she's gone quiet. Despair. And those eyes...they are left to silently stare up Dain's nose with a most grievous look of betrayal. The scanners will pick up two things of concern on her person - her personal comlink, tucked into her belt beneath the flowy, silky sheer outer tunic, and a tiny mic clipped in her hair. Nachkt nods as the chimes alert him and he fleeces her quickly to find and remove them, each in turn being disabled. "Lay her on the rack over there, med kit is in the ships locker." now that the ship was underway he could relax. leaving the simple course to the onboard computer. Beauty of tatooine, no traffic beyond the ports proper. "I see where the medical droid will be required, but that will have to be done off world at the edge of the system." he minds the man and smiles behind the helmet, noting that it still hadn’t occurred to him what had actually happened. Dain sets Ambrosia down and applies the med kit to the best of his ability. Seeing it done wasn't quite the education he'd hoped it would have been. He speaks into his comlink again. "Change of plans again." "Again, sir?" "Yes. Change of plans. Meet us at the coordinates and dock with this transponder." "Docking? So you won’t be coming to the spaceport?" "Nope." "I'll be there shortly sir, if I manage to get this thing off the ground." “JEEVE5, a baby could do it. Get there as soon as you can." Dain looks Ambrosia over again and can't help but see the seething anger towards him in her eyes. No doubt the ambassador would have words with him when she was better, but she would get better and that is all Dain cares about. Lying face down on this 'rack', Ambrosia maintains what she can of a white-knuckled grip on the flat surface. It won't take much poking around to figure out that a medkit just ain't gonna suffice. Maybe the drugs. The drugs could be useful, because the situation is this: It's really difficult to discern what's Ambassador Delgard vs her clothing, vs pieces of Merk vs tiny bits of shrapnel, as it's all just melted together into a big, stinking layer over the majority of what was her back. Small patches bearing the same degree of severity mar her hand, feet, shoulder, forearm, tush... For the worst of these, the first thing to be done is to debride the wound...which means scraping/peeling all the unhealthy layers off. If they're going to be foolish enough to try, let's hope there's earplugs in that medkit... Nachkt considers the situation at hand and her state and without so much as a nod or ‘pardon me’, a claw flicks a setting and he knocks her out with a blast on stun from the EKX. "There, do what needs to be done till we dock, clean it, sterilize while she is out." He pauses and turns back to Dain. "Ok, before we go any further." Dain is in shock for a moment as it dawns on him that the Trandoshan just blasted the Ambassador with an EKX. But as her vitals continue and she remains unconscious Dain shakes his head. "For the best, I guess." Dain's comlink beeps and JEEVE5 is heard on the other end. "We are at the coordinates now, Sir. Shall we dock?" Dain looks to Nachkt for the ok. Seeing that perhaps the Trandoshan has something important to bring up, the Corellian looks on him for a moment. "Got something else on your mind?" Sweet, sweet neural sleep bliss. Unconscious Ambrosia is unconscious and cannot rupture eardrums with her tortured screams. Alas. Nor can she reprimand the philanthropic producer for being such a fool. Tsk. But, she's got the breathing thing down at least. Nachkt cradles the EKX casually barrel down but quick to raise from its current position. "You commented, good shooting." he remarks of their aftermath. "Naturally, one does not kill their target, few bounties aside from underworld ones actually want them dead." the armored helmet is passive as is the voice. "But it is plain to me, that you do not fully comprehend the exchange...or for that matter why she seemed very unhappy with you?" the helmet nods back in the direction of the planet they had come from. "Did it not occur to you that there were only republic troops there and I remarked that sometimes it’s better to be in the path of your target and not stalking?" Dain regards the Trandoshan for a long moment and allows his hand to drop down towards his own blaster. The last thing he wanted was to have to put a hole in the trandoshan he'd invested in, but he couldn't allow the ambassador to be taken in for any amount of bounty. Dain easily slips his hand under the armor and withdraws a small globe like object. He forces a smile. "This one isn't worth the trouble she'll cause you. Let's go back to being friends and I'll keep your nice ship in one piece." Dain hopes the Trand can be reasoned with. If anyone could reason with him. It was Dain. "Now let's talk about this bounty and how we can skirt it with your honor still in tact..." Ambrosia drools. The hunter’s features are concealed behind his armored helmet, but he lifts a hand to indicate the detonator. "Feel free to set it off if you must...kill me, kill you, kill her. It’s a perfectly honorable way to go out." there is no hesitation in his voice. "But you tasked me to do a job, to do that job I need a certain level of credibility with the Empire, war is ugly so is slaving." He minds the man. "If you must do this, then do it. I won’t stop you...but as stated you die, I die, she dies and nobody finds the Wookiees...yes?" Dain rests his thumb just on the red switch of the globe in his left hand. He gives the Trandoshan a long, thoughtful glance as he mulls over what the hunter has said. No, he didn't want to die, or kill his new friends. Fine friends you chose to have. Dain silently scolds himself. The Corellian slowly eases the det back into his armor. "You don't need to explain your reasoning for your capture. I admire your philosophy and understand but. But this one is not going to the Empire. You'll need to find another way to display your credibility." Dain speaks into his comlink. "You can dock with us, JEEVE5. But I need you to call my contact on planet and let them know where we are." Dain turns his attention back to the trandoshan. "If you need credibility with the Empire I am sure we can work out a more profitable way, a way that will keep all three of us alive and breathing?" The armored head shakes. "The game is afoot and it goes as planned, you can tend to her as needed. When the time comes I will vouch for your innocence in this." he waves a hand at her. "She will be perfectly safe, The Jedi I brought in got away well and clean and safe and I sure she will rescue her." his tone takes on a more serious one. "If you don’t have the resolution to win to do whatever it takes to find the wookiees, then why did you hire me?" One of Ambrosia's fingers twitches, but arm remains as limp and floppy as a noodle. Her unseeing eyes gaze lifelessly through singed lashes, occasionally twitching as well. Maybe there's some neural activity in there yet. Dreamland. Dain was afraid he would say that. The Corellian looks at Ambrosia's still form and rests his hand on her shoulder. He slowly raises his head to regard fully the trandoshan before him. His jaw is clenched tight and his eyes show a mix of anger and sadness. He thinks back on his days as a hutt major domo and how far he'd come since Nar Shaddaa, He thinks about Scarlet and Krackor and Lando Calrissian and his eyes begin to burn. Now, approaching his 40s Ewan Dain, Corellian holo-producer, one time CEO of the galaxy's largest entertainment corporation prepares himself to die. His hand grips the shoulder of the prostrate ambassador and "Sir, we've docked with the ship. We're coming aboard. I've alerted our friend to our location but I have no guess as to whether the message was received. I wish you'd just come to the Starport like we planned to begin with!" Dain lets out a sigh of relief. "I need to take her to my ship for medical care. You and I can finish this discussion later. I don't think you're being nearly reasonable enough." Nachkt shakes his head. "She is an ambassador, not a soldier. She will be traded as a political piece and her angst at you will be expressed in the presence of the Empire." he seems to be trying to explain patiently. "This will give you a loose foothold for finding you own way in as I dig deeper, war is ugly. You are putting affection above reality and strategy." he warns the man. "You have already let emotion cloud your judgment despite knowing the facts and truth. Is she above the thousands of missing wookiees?" the EKX raises just slightly. "I am being very rational, far more so then you. Why does sentience think war is polite, or that it picks and choose the less valuable over the greater value. The worthless die, the valuable are traded and bargained for." Ew, gross. Now Dain's gotta send his glove through the wash. Might have a lil somethin' stuck to it. A low 'nnngh' groans from the table. Another finger twitch. Then two. Dain listens to the trandoshan's words and doesn't disagree. "You're right, but humans are different. We aren't rational, we aren't that brave or smart but our emotions are central to our being. As a hunter you understand, you have likely hunted dozens of humans and if they were regular people, even exceptional but regular old humans like Ambrosia and me you must have noticed the strength they get from one another. The family unit for us is as important as your hunt is to you." Dain hoists the unconcious women up in one enhanced arm and slowly backs away from the table. "She won’t do either one of us any good if she is dead. We can figure out how to meet both our needs or we can part ways and you can come looking for me. I hope you don't choose to do that. We have a good thing here." Dain keeps a hand close to the enforcer pistol at his hip. "And in the meantime, shouldn't you be doing the job you've already been paid to do? You've got money in hand for that, for her you only have a promise." Nachkt lifts the barrel of the EKX. "Dain, you hired me to do a job and I will do it, but you are interfering in a good plan. You are now risking her life as well as your own." his hands flicks the setting. "If we shoot out now, odds are I will live, you might die...she will die." he lifts a chin. "I have given you rational and you ignore it, now I am telling you. You are gambling with her life, do you want to?" Why did people always assume Dain wasn't good with a blaster. He was damn good. And he was tempted to prove it. He gets that emotion under control immediately. "Don't underestimate me or my reach Nachkt. I give you a 50 50 chance to live this day out. You wouldn't be the first body I've laid rest on Tatooine. I despised it. But you'll go down like anyone else... But... You're right. We're wasting time. Perhaps you know this game better than me. But I swear to you right now. There won’t be a rock you can hide under to escape my wrath if any harm comes to her." Dain sets her back on the table. "I'm going to go get the medical droid to come here. We'll go with your plan for now. But like I said, something goes wrong here, you are accountable. Not only will I place a bounty large enough on your head to shame the Hutts, I will do everything in my power to destroy you." Dain looks at the Ambassador and frowns. "I'm trusting you on this, Nachkt." Over the scoop of Dain's 'enhanced' arm, someone's tummy muscles are starting to tense. Fingers begin to crook into fists, dangling above the floor. Recovering from a stun slug is like waking up from a shit hangover. Delgard's abdominal muscles wretch again, this time accompanied by a little horking sound and gag after she's put back onto the table. The crackling of her skin as it shifts is audible. Ouch. Nachkt stutter hisses behind the helmet. "You don’t think I have heard that before?" the rifle remains raised. "I am not under estimating a thing, as stated we may die if we shoot it out...but she will." he reminds the man. "Please save the threat, we all die and we all end in ruin, by event or natures hand. Save the theatrics for someone who cares." Dain smiles as the Trandoshan finishes his sentence. "I don't think you've had your ass handed to you near enough, Nachkt." Dain ponders the trandoshan's statement for a moment. "But, it looks like I'm stuck with you for the moment." Dain chuckles. "I'll keep this little thermal detonator in my pocket whenever you and I meet. Until you prove yourself as more than a common thug I can't trust you. Not impressed, Nachkt, I pray you prove to me with investment in you was worthwhile." Dain backs out of the ships towards his own where he will set about preparing the droid for surgery.